


do or die, you'll never make me (because the world will never take my heart)

by Shen_Gong_Oops



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Amnesia, Bellamy is basically a vigilante Professor X, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, and Clarke is lowkey Captain Marvel, kind of like The Boys but not nearly as dark, minor Clarke Griffin/Cage Wallace, similar to canon they are not enemies for very long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28225437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shen_Gong_Oops/pseuds/Shen_Gong_Oops
Summary: As the youngest member of the Guard and the daughter of the Guard former leader, there are high expectations set for Clarke. The Marketing and PR teams at Ark expecting her to be prim and proper during any conferences, while simultaneously performing their well-rehearsed fight choreography to a T.But when four unknown supes challenge the juggernaut that is Ark Industries, Clarke wonders if herodom isn't all it's cracked up to be.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11
Collections: Chopped: Holiday Trope Exchange





	do or die, you'll never make me (because the world will never take my heart)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ProbablyVoldemort](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProbablyVoldemort/gifts).



>   1. Fake dating
>   2. Amnesia AU
>   3. Enemies to Friends to Lovers
>   4. Superhero AU
> 

> 
> I'm apologizing in advance for the hero names. Aside from the Greek squad and Optimus (for Russell) I am not proud of the names I chose. I had to use the Seventh Sanctum - Superhero/Villain Name Generator for most.

* * *

Confused dark eyes turned from the police officers and the neurologist towards the window. Towards her. Upon seeing her, his eyes lit up in recognition. His seemly permanent scowl morphing into a toothy grin. The police officers and the neurologist followed his line of sight. His hand thrust out in front of him to beckon her into the room. She watched as one of the officers leaned over to whisper something into their partner’s ear. Probably wondering why some random civilian from an incident scene acted so friendly around an off-duty supe. And their guesses were as good as hers. She saw the man for a minute at most as she carried him from a collapsing bank. 

She didn’t even know his name.

“They want to know why we were at the bank. I figured we were depositing something into an account. Or maybe we were making a withdrawal? Mom always did recommend paying with cash around the holidays.”

Had he said ‘we’ as in they were at the bank together? He had gone into the bank to do who knows what. She and Fallout had been "summoned" there when an "anonymous civilian" called in a tip stating they witnessed Miss Fortune outside the bank. Ark scheduled and choreographed the whole production. A fake attack on a bank by a supe who Ark cast as a villain instead of a hero to showcase their valiant - fake - triumph over the said villain. She and Fallout sat on a rooftop a few blocks away awaiting the signal to begin.

“We?” she asked.

His head tilted to the left. Dark curls sweeping across his forehead from the movement. “Yea, why we were there.”

“Why do you think we were there together?”

She watched as his smile contorted into a frown. Thick eyebrows scrunching in confusion. “Are we not dating?”

Dating?! He thought they were dating? She didn’t even know his name and he thought they were dating?!

The neurologist placed a hand on the shoulder of each officer, “I believe Mr. Blake here has been questioned enough. Let’s give him some time to adjust.” The male then led the officers from the room.

Dating?!

“I’m sorry for misinterpreting our relationship. No need to yell," the man, Mr. Blake, grumbled while falling back into the pillows.

"I didn't yell," Clarke murmured.

Before he could utter another word, the door flew open. A woman with long, dark hair stumbled into the room. If not for the ponytail pulled through the opening, her baseball cap would have been knocked off in her haste. Worried blue eyes trained on the man seated in the bed. Had Mr. Blake transferred his feelings from this woman onto the last person he saw, which just so happened to be Clarke?

"You're the only person I know who'd end up in a hospital because they went to make a withdrawal." The woman said, her voice like ice.

The man raised his hands in defense, "I didn't do anything. According to the police officers, I ended up being the closest to the impact."

That wasn't true. As Clarke entered the bank, Bellamy stalked calmly towards Miss Fortune. Hands held out in front of him as he approached. The man whispered something to Miss Fortune that had her lowering her weapon. Never had she veered from the script. Harper always hit her mark to a T. Harper's entrances demanding the attention of anyone and everyone. The way she built tension before the hero arrived, amazing. Her fight scenes were executed perfectly and flawlessly, to the point where Ark contemplated making Harper a fight choreographer. And her escapes seemed genuine and realistic. There was a reason fights between the Guard and Miss Fortune polled better than any other hero/villain combo.

Which was why Clarke froze seeing Harper lower her weapon for this random man. Harper _never_ went off-script. Mr. Blake reached forward to remove the weapon. The man still speaking but Clarke couldn't make out what he said. As his hand wrapped around the weapon's handle Fallout stormed into the bank, disrupting whatever this man had done to placate the situation. Like a switch flipping, Miss Fortune returned. Her grip on the weapon tightening but there was a fear in her eyes. That's when everything went to shit.

Based on what she witnessed, Clarke assumed Mr. Blake had some mind-control like power and therefore would be registered for a High-Risk Ability. She did a brief search in the waiting room while the doctors conducted their exams, for Blakes with mind control abilities in the Greater Arkadia Area but there were no hits. Nor did she find a match when broadened the search to all telepathy. He did say she was yelling when she was thinking so she assumed he could read minds as well. 

This man was an unregistered HRA supe. 

The woman turned to Clarke, her eyes widening upon recognition. The woman looked rapidly between Blake and herself.

"My name's Clarke." She extended her hand out towards the woman, "And you are?"

"Octavia," the woman jutted her thumb out towards Blake, "Bellamy's sister."

"Can we talk? Clarke asked, gesturing towards the door, "I would love to catch you up on everything and let your brother here rest."

Clarke led the woman out of the hospital room and down a maze of halls to the cafeteria. She asked if Octavia wanted anything while they were there but the woman refused. Her stomach too in knots to be able to hold anything down. And Clarke didn't blame her. Seeing the youngest member of the Guard standing in the same hospital room as your unregistered HRA brother would make anyone uneasy.

Clasping her hands in front of her, Clarke began speaking, "To start, he has retrograde amnesia. Your brother lost all memories from the last three years when the bank's ceiling collapsed. It was my fault, I should have handled the situation sooner. I-"

The woman held up her hands, cutting off anything else Clarke would have said, "I know my brother. If he ended up in a hospital, it was his damn fault."

That's… one way of looking at it. 

"Three years huh?" Octavia tapped her pointer finger against her bottom lip, "I wonder what's the last thing he remembers."

"He remembers bringing his students on a field trip to the museum and then waking up in the hospital." Clarke leaned forward in her seat, with her elbows on the table. "I do want to let you know your brother assumed I was his girlfriend. I believe he was projecting his affections for said girlfriend onto me. I don't want her to think I'm stealing him away or anything."

The brunette nodded solemnly. "He had a girlfriend about three years ago… she uh… died… about a month before one of his field trips. So she won't think anything of it."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-" 

Octavia shook her head slowly, eyes fixated on the paint peeling off of the tabletop, "You didn't know, it's fine."

"I do have one more thing." She felt like Columbo whenever he tried to piece together a crime. _Oh and one more thing_ , "The doctors performed a few tests, one of which checked for the Supe gene. Funny enough, I couldn't find him in the registry."

The other woman's eyes widened. Slim fingers gripping onto the edge of the table. Clarke picked up a small sound, almost as if something broke. Slowly, she turned her head. Eyes panning across the cafeteria. "We're both baselines. I guess he's a carrier of the gene." 

"After he assumed we were dating, he responded to my correction. The thing is the correction I gave wasn't said out loud." Clarke leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. "Still wanna go with he's baseline?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Look, I'm not going to arrest him for being unregistered. I think the addendum is ludicrous." The original registration bill required only those using their abilities for work, like Clarke, to register. The addendum required all telepaths, and only all telepaths, regardless if they used their abilities for work or not, to register. Octavia seemed to agree with her. The woman's eyes softened, "I have questions about counteracting telepathic abilities I'd like to ask him."

Octavia leaned back in her seat, mimicking Clarke's position. A perfectly plucked eyebrow raised in question, "So why are you asking me?"

"I like to go into negotiations knowing everything I can. In this sense, what your brother's ability entails,” Clarke stated.

Octavia's hands came up to cover her face. Fingers pulling taut at the skin of her forehead. "I don't know why you seem to think he's like Mentalist. Bell's baseline." 

As they stood up to return to Bellamy’s room, Clarke noticed the two cracks on the table’s edge. Small crescent-shapes digging into the surface where the wood splintered. The snap she’d heard before had been Octavia breaking the table. Her powers unconsciously activating when her brother’s safety came into jeopardy. Though Clarke meant it when she said she had no intention of bringing in Bellamy Blake. 

Mental abilities while powerful and feared are still quite rare. Especially in comparison to physical abilities. Ark contracted three mid-level telepaths over the past few months to work on an assignment, but none have been able to succeed. Clarke believed Mr. Blake may be able to provide some insight regarding memory manipulation. 

Mr. Blake on the other hand did not.

"You want me to help you with what?" He asked coldly.

Clarke stood tall at the end of the hospital bed, her arms crossed at her chest. "I have a few questions regarding counteracting the effects of telepathy."

The air in the room shifted. Gone was the jovial male sitting in a hospital bed, waving over the woman he thought to be his girlfriend. Instead cold, dark eyes glared up at her. His jaw clenched when she informed him she was an employee of Ark.

"And you’re coming to me because?" Bellamy trailed off, his right hand gesticulating outwards.

"Because you're a telepath," She curtly says. Opening his mouth to retort, but Clarke cut him off, "Let's just skip the part where you pretend you're not a telepath. Cause we both know you are."

"Well I'm not,” Bellamy replies gruffly.

"I saw you talk Miss Fortune out of a bank robbery and earlier you responded to something I thought." Clarke walked over to the side of his bed and interlaced her fingers together. Quietly, she says, “Bellamy, I get you’re probably scared and you're unregistered but I need your help."

Bellamy leans forward in the bed, causing the blanket to shift forward, "Look princess, not all of us are fourth-generation supes who got into the Guard because of our mommies."

How had he known that? Upon reentering the room with Octavia, Clarke introduced herself as Clarke Griffin, not as Ultraviolet. While she stated she worked for Ark, Clarke never stated what position she held with the company. For all he knew, she could be part of the Ark's legal team. Ultraviolet hadn't become a household name until ten months prior, when her face became slapped across every magazine and news station as the newest member of the Guard. A time Bellamy shouldn't be able to remember.

The male let out an aggravated sigh, "Don't look as if I just proved you right. I might be missing three years of my life but I know how to Google someone. The doctor gave me your name.” Bellamy grabbed his phone off of the nightstand and began to read aloud, “Ultraviolet, the newest and youngest member of the Guard. Joining after that psycho Mantis departed from the team. Fourth-generation supe and daughter of Elixir, former leader of the Guard. Girlfriend to the current Guard leader, Fallout."

Clarke’s shoulders sagged in defeat. She’d leave the Blakes to their lives. Let Bellamy slowly gain his memories back. For the second time that week, she wished she knew someone who possessed the capabilities to restore memories. Though this time to make up for wasting his time. Sadly, she and Ark have yet to come across one. In a way, it's probably better for Bellamy to regain his memories naturally. The person may expose Bellamy for having an unregistered HRA. If he was one that is.

"Thank you for your time Mr. Blake."

She stops by to check on his progress throughout the week. Every time the male saw her through the window, Bellamy's calm demeanor tensed. He sat silently, jaw clenched uncomfortably tight, as she spoke with the neurologist. Never once saying a word. But he needn’t have to. Those cold eyes said everything she needed. Bellamy Blake did not care for anyone from Ark Industries and he did not care to hide his hatred.

* * *

Cage stood tall at the podium addressing the crowd. Arms extended outwards as whatever well-rehearsed nonsense spewed from his lips. Something about a united front against the rise in villainy. Clarke stood silently behind him, her hands hanging down by her sides. Their PR agent scolding Clarke each time she crossed her arms in front of her chest. As the "girlfriend" to the leader of the Guard, Management mandated Clarke attend each of Cage's press conferences. To show support to the boyfriend she adored.

The morning before each press conference, several employees would sit her down in one of the many conference rooms - just not The Guard’s conference room, supe’s only according to Cage - to discuss possible talking points. A literal script displayed on the projector of what she could say if asked Question A; a scripted response if asked Question B. All brief and to the point. Each answer ultimately designed to turn the interviewer's attention back to Cage.

Her fingers itching to cover her bottom half. She abhorred the skin tight leotard Marketing forced her into after her debut. Said the one-piece performed well with audiences. They clearly hadn’t thought of the practicality of the outfit. Everytime she so much as shifted her weight, Clarke feared she’d end up with her ass on the cover of some tabloid. Marketing designed a full bodysuit for Raven and Lexa. They gave Delilah a skirt that covered _everything_. The one time she did place her hands in front of her had ended with a three hour lecture on proper behavior at speeches and press conferences, Cage merrily joined in on anything where he could rip Clarke a new one. 

Plus, this suit during the winter months did not mix well.

Thelonious, as the head of Ark Industries, waltzed up to the podium to take over speaking with the crowd to discuss the future of Ark. 

“I’ve scheduled you to fight Phantasm alongside Echinacea tomorrow afternoon,” Cage spoke out of the side of his mouth. A fake grin plastered to his face, “Don’t mess this one up.”

She hadn’t been the one galivanting into the bank like a knob.

His gloved hand reached over to grab hers. Hundreds of cameras flashed in rapid succession capturing the small act of intimacy. “Pull that nonsense from the bank again and I’ll tear your kidney out your throat, got it?”

Clarke smiled towards the paparazzi, right hand raised beside her head in a slow wave, “I hope you choke and die.”

A loud shrill came from Cage’s watch bringing the press conference to a screeching halt. A watch Marketing would not allow Clarke to wear while in uniform. “It throws off your aesthetic.” The tightness of the uniform did not allow for Clarke to carry a phone. Thus when out in the field, Clarke always had to be partnered with one of the other supes. Specifically her oh so doting boyfriend.

The crowd, previously electric from hearing Fallout’s sentiments, stood eerily silent. Thelonious turned around from the podium, eyes widening in shock. They made sure not to schedule any villain attacks during the conference to maximize coverage on every available news station.

“An attack on Marston Street between Lee and Kirby.” Cage stood in front of Clarke, “Three meta-humans on site.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and shot off into the air.

Landing on the sidewalk in front of the First National Bank of Arkadia - really a second bank robbery in a week? - Clarke surveyed the surrounding area while Cage received a quick debriefing. Peering into the window of the pizzeria across the street, she noticed the restaurant was completely empty. No patrons, no employees - odd seeing as it was only 1 pm. Shouldn’t there still be a lunch rush? Looking through the window of the diner next door, Clarke noticed the same thing - the place barren of any people. In fact all eight restaurants on the block were empty and the few stores she could peer into appeared empty as well. 

“We’re going in, what are you doing?” Cage’s voice carrying over the desolate street. “Get your ass over here.”

Clarke turned on her heel to return to the bank when she heard a distorted voice say, “Real nice boyfriend you got there.” Had she overlooked one of the stores? No, there was no one on the block besides emergency personnel. Where had that voice come from? “Don’t wanna keep him waiting, do you?”

“Clarke! Are you deaf?! Get over here now!”

_What did you do with everyone?_

_Told them they should go for a walk near Polaris Square. You’re welcome._

_Where are you?_

On the corner of the street, a beam of light rippled. Looked almost like whenever a character in a cartoon tried to rip a hole into another dimension and you could see the galaxy through the tears. She heard the emergency personnel yelling over each other trying to figure out what they saw. Even Cage seemed to quiet down. 

_Who are you?_

_You know it’s rude to keep people waiting._

The door to the bank blew off its hinges and clattered onto the stone steps. In the haze of smoke, three masked forms walked out onto the street. A female stood in the middle, her fists poised on her hips. On her left, a man stood with his arms engulfed in flames. To her right, another man raised his assault rifle.

“Finally! We’ve been waiting for you!” The woman called out cheerfully, “We can finally get this party started.”

“Let the hostages go,” Cage demanded, peeling one of his gloves off.

The woman cracked her neck, “They’re long gone.”

Thus their fight commenced. Clarke facing off against the female and Cage facing off against the fire-wielder. The third male hung back, but whenever someone tried to approach the scene, he'd fire off one of his multitude of weapons near their feet. His job to keep as much distance between the supes and everyone else.

She and the woman danced around one another. Both executing combinations of jabs, punches, and kicks. No matter how many of Clarke's hits landed on the woman, no visible sign of injury marred her. Could this woman withstand Clarke's proton fists? 

The diagonal kick she threw froze mere inches from the woman's face. Try as she may, Clarke could not get her leg to move - whether it be to continue with the kick or to the ground. Her arms remained down by her side refusing to move. The woman smirked at her, stepping back from the kick's trajectory. From the corner of her eye, she could see the fire-wielder stepping out from the range of Cage's punch, which also happened to be frozen in air as well.

Tossing the strap of his weapon over his shoulder, the second man sauntered over. Grabbing Clarke's shoulders, he turned her around to face Cage while the fire-wielder turned Cage around to face her. 

"It's been fun but we must be off," the masked woman cheers, "We should do this again sometime!" All three masked villains disappeared as the air around them convexed into a pocket.

_Who watches the watchmen?_

* * *

Queen Hippolyta and Prometheus. Those were names the bank 'hostages' overheard. Queen Hippolyta and Prometheus. The third masked villain, the one totting a literal armory around on his person hadn't been referred to by an alias. None of the Ark's databases produced a hit for villains using those names. Though Google had provided a substantial breakdown for what those names meant with regard to Greek mythology-

"I haven't been arrested."

Clarke looked up from her phone to see Bellamy Blake leaning against one of the columns outside the Ark Tower. To be honest, she lowkey expected him to be wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. Maybe a long trench coat and hiding in the shadows. Really ham up the illicit meeting occurring outside the agency that could send him to a Super Max. Not to be confused with a supermax prison. The former only held supes.

She slipped her phone into her back pocket, "You're admitting I was right?"

Bellamy ran a hand through the mess of curls atop his head, "Not on your life, princess. Just stating the obvious seeing as you could have had my ass hauled off for a crap ton of tests."

Her phone buzzed three times in rapid succession but she didn't reach for it, "Why are you here?"

"You could have easily gone to Mentalist for whatever telepathic mumbo-jumbo you needed." Bellamy pushed himself off the wall, "Yet you seemed desperate to have some random guy in a hospital bed help you. I'm not a fan of Ark or anything it endorses," he pointedly looked at her, "but color me intrigued."

Some random guy with possibly the same skill set as their villain's. 

Glancing over her shoulders at the glass doors behind her, Clarke shook her head.

_Unity Park. 7 pm. Benches near the Becca statue._

* * *

Clarke arrived at Unity Park five minutes to seven. Flipping the car visor down, she double checked that her wig sat perfectly in place. Waves of brown hair cascading down her shoulders. She resisted the urge to scratch her whole head. Buying a $10 wig from some department store may not have been her best idea, but at least her blonde hair was securely tucked away in the wig cap. Reaching into her glove box, Clarke pulled out an Arkadian Stags baseball cap and a pair of aviators. The irony of the outfit not lost on her. For once, she needed to be incognito and not the fresh-faced sweetheart of the most powerful superhero team in the country.

Bellamy already sat on the bench reading _The History of Supers: From Becca to the Guard_. His eyes never lifting from the book as she sat on the opposite end. A weird tentative peace fell between the two of them.

"I wasn’t sure you’d come," Clarke began, her face turned towards the park below them. Watching as small children ran about on the knoll.

"I contemplated not showing up. Really sell the whole baseline thing," Bellamy replied, flipping the page in his book. “But like I said, I’m intrigued.”

Clarke ran over the facts of the case in her head. Seven months prior, a villain without a name emerged. He broke into the homes of Ark executives without a sign of struggle or forced entry. As if each executive let him into their home of their own volition. Afterwards, the executives had no recollection of the event. Dante Wallace tried to sit with a sketch artist but the face on the page ended up being his son's. The only memory the man allowed them to keep was the name Nobody.

“Nobody?” Bellamy let out a chuckle, “Really?”

“The news reports refer to him as an unknown assailant robbing wealthy homeowners." Clarke's hands rested on either side of her thighs. Her palms pressing against the cooled stone. "Using the name Nobody makes it seem as if no crime occurred.”

Still with his nose still in the book, Bellamy said, “He’s read The Odyssey.”

“What?”

A scene began to play out in her mind and everything around her faded away. A group of faceless soldiers huddled in the corner of a darkened cave. Several feet away, a large monster laid on the ground snoring. One of the men walked over to the dimming fire and began hardening a wooden stake. Once satisfied with his handiwork, the faceless man walked over to the creature. Like the man, the creature was faceless, except for one large eye in the center. The man took the stake and stabbed the cyclops' eye. She could hear voices far off becoming nearer, asking what happened. Though the voices disappeared when the cyclops shouted out "Nobody" hurt him.

Clarke blinks once and then twice as the images disappeared, "You can alter what a person sees?"

"Yea, but I'm sure it's nothing compared to what Mentalist can do." Her fingers curled into the stone as he emphasized Kane's alter ego. Clarke tried to keep her mind clear of any thoughts pertaining to her godfather. 

So this phantom thief knew his Greek mythology. He'd teamed up with a woman going by the alias of Queen Hippolyta, queen of the Amazons, and a male going by Prometheus, the fire bringer.

And apparently so did Bellamy. 

(This phantom thief also had the same skill set as Bellamy. Not suspicious at all.)

“You want my insight as to what?”

“Can you restore memories that have been erased completely?" For the first time since she'd sat down, Clarke turned her attention to Bellamy. His dark eyes already focused on her, "Ark's searched for people with regenerative healing capabilities or memory restoration abilities, though our search has yet to yield results."

_If I had memory restoration abilities, don't you think I would have used them on myself already?_

Hearing Bellamy’s voice inside of her own mind felt oddly… warm, cajole even. Quite the change from their icy first meeting. His deep timber soothing whereas Nobody’s voice made her skin crawl. Her seatmate making her feel less violated by the invasion her thoughts. 

_Though I finally have something in common with a bunch of rich, old tools._

“Memory-based powers are very… precise, from what I’ve come to understand,” Bellamy began, fingers drumming against the spine of the book. “You have to be very exact in the way you alter the memory, erase the memory, hide the memory.” Flipping to the first page of the book, Bellamy held it out to her. “For example, if I were to erase a specific memory,” he fiddled with the page between his thumb and pointer finger, “it would be gone for good, there’s no way to reconstruct it. But if a memory was veiled or altered for some reason,” his fingers covered one of the paragraphs on the page, “you could, if done correctly, obtain the memory back.”

“So the memory where Dante Wallace saw his son’s face in lieu of Nobody’s could essentially be corrected to reveal the right face?”

“Possibly, but more than likely not.”

“Why?”

Bellamy slipped the plastic cover off of the book, the title painted into the hardcover reading _The ABCs of Telepathy_. Had he brought her a children’s how-to book and disguised it with a best-selling biography on Becca and the Ark? 

“Assuming this Nobody knows what he’s doing, he’d wipe the memory then add in a new one, as opposed to covering up a memory with a fake one.”

* * *

Clarke collapsed face first onto the break room's couch. With every breath, the pain of Queen Hippolyta’s attacks reverberated throughout her body. A series of bruises no doubt covering the expanse of her back. She’s yet to face an adversary that rivaled the durability and stamina of Queen Hippolyta. After five fights in as many days, Clarke’s body racked with fatigue while Queen Hippolyta looked ready for another ten rounds. 

Unlike his colleague, Prometheus showed visible signs of exhaustion. His intensity of his flames lessening the longer he fought. Every time Prometheus became drained from fighting, Clarke's limbs froze. As did the limbs of whomever fought alongside her. She'd try in vain to free herself as the three villains disappeared in a blink. Each time, Nobody's distorted voice asking her who watched the watchmen followed by some cryptic codeword such as Oblation and Chosen. 

The news had a field day covering each fight. Several helicopters flew overhead recording every strike, broadcasting it onto almost every channel in real time. News anchors Kaylee Lee and Diane Sydney loved ripping into members of the Guard for their abysmal performances against these three new villains. Namely Cage's inability to defeat Prometheus. They did compliment Clarke's tenacity battling against Queen Hippolyta. Her favorite had been a clip on station replayed on loop for almost 24 hours straight: Clarke with photon fists decking Hippolyta in the face and the woman didn't even flinch. A move she legally could not use on any supe B-level or lower, for their bodies could not physically withstand the force. 

And the woman _didn't move_.

Normally when fighting the other "villains," the Guard came out victorious more times than not. Sometimes a draw is thrown in for good measure. These three new rogue supes were truly making Ark and the Guard work for a win.

"Hey, have you heard anything about Harper? I haven't seen her since the bank incident." Clarke said. She didn't consider that a win, a lose, or tie. That day was just a mess.

"Yea, she's in the locker room," Raven responded, tinkering with the wiring of her leg. Placing the tool down on the table, she looked away from her knee joint. "Now that I think about it, she's been in there for a while."

Opening the door to the women's locker room, Clarke heard the shower running. Passing by the few rows of lockers, Clarke stepped into the bathroom area. One of the white curtains was drawn, but Harper's form could be seen sitting on the tile floor still in a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. The spray from the shower washing over the woman.

"Harper hon, what's wrong?" Clarke yelled, rushing to turn the shower off. 

Raven rushed over with three towels she grabbed from the rack, wrapping one around Harper's shoulders. Clarke combed her friend's wet hair back into a ponytail. Gently, she wrapped the blonde locks in a towel.

"He knew," Harper mumbled

"What?" Clarke asked, leaning in closer to her friend. Fingers rubbing soothing circles into the other’s biceps.

"The guy who ended up in the hospital,” Harper said, her voice barely louder than a whisper, “He knew I worked for Ark. Knew they casted me as a 'villain'."

Bellamy spent less than a minute in Harper’s presence. Could he really obtain that kind of knowledge in such a short amount of time?

"Said he'd distract everyone in the bank and whatever schmuck who’d burst in claiming to be a hero. That he'd give me time to run,” Harper’s voice wavered as she spoke. “Before the public could lose interest. Before I could end up like Mastera. Said all I had to do was put down the weapon and I’d no longer be a ‘damned supe prop.’”

"Mastera was an accident." Raven stated, her finger lacing with Harper's "We will _never_ let that happen to you."

Tears began to well in Harper’s eyes. Shaking her head slowly, Harper continued, "According to him, Ark killed Mastera for their ratings.”

Clarke paused in her ministrations. "What are you saying? That Ark wanted one of their employees to die?"

"And for a moment, I almost took him up on his offer. I've watched the video a hundred times. I lowered my weapon, I _wanted_ to run. When I came back to my senses, everything went wrong. I could have been Mastera."

"He was the one who distracted you." Raven pointed out, "He was the one messed with the script."

Getting Harper off of the bathroom floor took time. Coaxing her into warm sweats took even more. The woman seemed so lost in thought. Tear tracks stained her cheeks as Clarke rubbed a warm washcloth against the woman’s face. While none of them had been with Ark Industries at the time, everyone knew the story. The fight between Mantis and Mastera becoming a cautionary tale for all new hires as well as a reminder to older employees that anything could happen if the choreography is not followed properly. That you must remember every single move. But judging by the fear in Harper’s brown eyes, the other woman believed Bellamy’s stance. That Mastera’s death hadn’t been an accident.

Clarke slid down the wall outside of Harper’s room, Raven plopping down beside her. Unlocking her phone, Clarke selected the first video that captured the dreaded moment. As the screen loaded, she muted the video. The pair throwing a combination of high-powered strikes and kicks. Mantis performed a superpowered diagonal kick, Mantis’s foot hitting the woman’s throat. One minute Mastera was standing arms poised for her next attack, the next she crumbled into a lifeless heap on the asphalt. But there was something in the woman’s eyes that screamed the scene wasn’t right.

Clarke replayed the video eleven times. _Eleven times_. Her and Raven watching for any details in the video hinting that it may not have been as accidental as Ark Industries claimed. On the twelfth view Clarke saw it. Mastera’s hands lowering subtly to block for a low kick. Panic flashing in her eyes. Rewinding the video once more, Clarke paused on the exact moment Mantis goes for roundhouse.

“Right there,” Clarke finger pointed at Mastera’s hands, “She anticipated a low kick.”

“She could have remembered the move wrong,” Raven replied, “Wouldn’t be the first time someone blanked. Monty and I have to over exaggerate our moves sometimes when facing Jasper.” Raven took the phone away from Clarke and locked the device, “Ever think that the guy from the bank was wrong.”

“But why that specifically?” Clarke asked, “Why Mastera?”

* * *

💥💥💥: Real name Gina Martin. No next of kin listed. 

💥💥💥: Listed as a former employee of Ark Industries working in their research department. Usual cover for anyone working as a villain.

💥💥💥: Per her will, a majority of her assets went to local charities but she did leave a $6,000 gold necklace to an Octavia Blake. 

How did you get her will?!?!?!

💥💥💥: Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to

💥💥💥: Oh damn, now I know why Bank Guy blames Ark. And I lowkey feel bad for thinking he was being an asshole to Harper. 

💥💥💥: According to old posts from Octavia's Instagram, Bank Guy and Gina were dating when she died

Can you come to my room? I need your genius trying to find something

* * *

Over the last few days, Raven delved into anything she could regarding Oblation and Chosen. Most of the files blacked out. All she had been able to gather was that Oblation happened at some black site and Chosen was a joint effort between Ark and the military. Possibly? Hard to make any definitive conclusions when you couldn’t read the reports. The three masked vigilantes appeared to have taken a break during the week leading up to Christmas. To be fair Clarke did not blame them. Queen Hippolyta wore a skirt and as someone who also did not wear pants as part of her supe costume, it was really too cold to be outside suping it up.

She kind of thought he’d make an appearance at last night’s company Christmas party. Every person he targeted or planned to target under one roof. But the whole ordeal ran rather smoothly. Until Jasper got drunk and fell in the crystal fountain for the third year in a row. 

He could strike at Cage’s Christmas Eve party, where only members of the Guard and Ark’s “b-team” the Alpha League could attend. Former members were also provided an invite such as Cage’s father Dante and Clarke’s mother, both of whom had been previous leaders of the Guard. Or Nobody could strike at the Christmas party on the 25th. Only current company executives and current members of the Guard were welcomed. 

Clarke sat on the bench beside Becca’s statue reviewing the guest list for the two upcoming parties, highlighting any names that had yet to be robbed. Her blonde hair once again hidden under the itchy, brunette wig. As she highlighted the next name on the list, someone sat down on the opposite side of the bench. Gazing up quickly, Clarke noticed Bellamy sitting beside her. His cheeks flushed pink from the cold.

Looking between the few individuals in the park and her bench-mate, Clarke muttered, “What are you doing here?” 

“I usually run in this park after work.”

Oh.

_Not all of us have access to Ark’s state of the art gym._

Bellamy shoved his bare hands into the pocket of his coat. At least she’d made the smart decision to wear gloves.

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes. Bellamy stretching out his legs and Clarke reviewing the guest lists. 

"I understand why you were standoffish when you found out I worked for Ark," she began, capping the highlighter. "I can't fathom what you went through watching Gina-"

"I wanted to try out for Ark," Bellamy admitted, cutting off Clarke’s sentence.

"You would have to register."

Lifting the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, Bellamy shrugged, "I wanted to be like Mentalist. Most members of the Guard or Alpha had some flashy, easily marketable physical manifestation, but here was a telepath showing how awesome mental capabilities are."

Letting out a woeful sigh, Clarke whispered, "He couldn't do half the things you can."

"What do you mean?"

"Ark hammed up Kane's abilities for the cameras.” The day they ‘revealed’ Mentalist honed in his abilities allowing him to paralyze an adversary with his mind, Ark Industries went up three points in the stock market. “Marketing promoted him as an omni-telepath but he wasn't." While she loved her godfather, Marcus wasn’t this all-powerful being. He’d been a D-level telepath, maybe a C-level on a good day. Unlike Bellamy who appeared to be an A or a B-level, and Nobody who most definitely was a S-level.

"Why are you telling me that?"

"Because you already know the inner workings of Ark. How fake most of it is"

Bellamy contemplated what she’d said. The male sitting quietly for a few moments. "I always wondered why he only fought select villains.”

“Why didn’t you try out?” She asked. Bellamy was an unregistered HRA but at one point he was willing to register, to try out for Ark.

_Some D-list schmuck came to visit my school senior year, boasting about the benefits he received working for Ark. But every word out of his mouth made me hate the idea of trying out more and more. So I went to my locker and ripped up the script I’d drafted for my audition tape._

Her mother and her godfather never spoke about the operation at Ark. How disingenuous it all was. She may as well have tried out to be an actress. Her face was already slapped on everything from posters to lunchboxes. “The company I worked for prior to Ark didn’t choreograph fights. Mind you there were few criminals and even less villains but it actually felt like I was doing something. Not just putting on a show, you know?”

* * *

Running into Bellamy on Monday had been an accident, truly. Running into him the rest of the week however was not. Everyday she sat on the bench, regardless of how cold the stone initially felt against her jean-clad thighs waiting for the man to run passed. The moment he noticed her (was the wig that bad that it gave her away immediately?) he’d jog over and remove his earbuds. A peculiar friendship forming between the two. Their conversation transitioning from _The ABCs of Telepathy_ \- which is actually quite informative, especially when you take into consideration it’s target audience are children four through nine whose powers developed for the first time - to their friends, Bellamy’s job as a kindergarten teacher, what tv shows they were binging on Netflix. 

On Christmas Eve, Raven wanted to know where Clarke kept happening off to around mid-afternoon. The woman already seated in the passenger seat of Clarke’s sedan by time she’d walked down to the basement parking lot. Thankfully, her friend agreed to wait in the car, though not without making a few jokes about clandestine affairs. Especially after she fixed the itchy brunette wig to cover her hair. 

By the time she arrived at their unofficial meeting spot, Bellamy already had a foot balanced on the bench, stretching out his quads. 

While they'd discussed Nobody during their first meeting, the villain had yet to make an appearance in their conversations since. Yes they talked of telepathy and Clarke posed several hypotheticals on how a power could do x, y, z but they never discussed Nobody. Or how each day Clarke's felt more inclined to say the man before her was the villain's alter ego.

Bellamy chuckled softly, "I've never met someone who thinks as loud as you do."

Her head tilts bashfully, "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize for thinking loud." Bellamy explains.

"I'm apologizing for what I'm thinking."

Bellamy fumbled with the drawstring of his hoodie. Nearly pulling the string out on one side. "Honestly, I have no memory of being Nobody. Shortly after the bank incident, Queen Hippolyta sought me out and explained our intentions to _collaborate_."

She had been right. Mr. Blake here had mastermind the break-ins of several Ark executives, stealing upwards of $100,000 from each victim. He'd aided in the escape of three masked vigilantes terrorizing downtown Arkadia. Why would he admit to being Nobody? He had to know the repercussions for admitting it… right?

"I know it's Christmas Eve and you probably have some hotty-totty holiday party to get to, but I wanna show you something. It'll be quick," Bellamy took two steps towards the parking lot. "You can bring Impact."

"I came alone."

"She thinks almost as loud as you." _If you still want to arrest me after all this, I'll go willingly. Just please let me show you something._

* * *

Before Bellamy could reach for the doorknob of the gray townhouse, the front door swung open. A male wearing a Christmas tree beanie stood in the doorway. Pieces of garland were sewn into the red sweater he wore forming an odd, geometric shape. In a way it looked like a bowtie at a 45 degree angle. Well, resembling a bowtie with three extra pieces attached. "You're late."

"Buzz off Miller."

The man, Miller, turned on his heel, heading further into the living room. "Old ass Blake is back. He brought friends."

Octavia lounged on the couch, her legs dangling over the arm. Gold and silver tinsel wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl. The woman's heels tapped against the couch in time to _Jingle Bell Rock_ playing from the small speakers on the coffee table. 

Propping herself up onto her elbows, Octavia said, "You took your damn time."

Bellamy tossed his coat onto one of the hooks in the doorway, "Sorry. Had to throw the Guard a freebie. Supes can't seem to do anything on their own."

_Dick._

Chuckling, Bellamy walked towards the kitchen. He stopped briefly to knock Octavia's feet off the couch's arm.

"Yea yea, I know." His sister grumbled, leaning into the far corner. 

"Sit wherever you want," Bellamy called out over his shoulder.

Clarke moved towards the opposite end of the couch while Raven took the middle spot. A few small festive pillows rested atop the cushions. From what she could tell, aside from Miller's interesting choice in clothing and the few pillows, nothing else in the homes was decorated. There was a Christmas tree in the living room, but it had not been decorated. A complete 180 from the penthouse Cage had decorated by some fancy schmancy company. An apartment she begrudgingly had to appear at sometime in the next hour for the annual Guard Christmas party. Keep up the guise of a loving, happy couple.

Even if their texts messages consisted mainly of them cursing each other out.

"You guys staying for dinner?" Miller dropped down onto one of the armchairs, "Murph's pretty good at making lasagna."

"I feel like they have wagyu beef or veal ossobuco tasting menus at whatever Christmas party they've got." Octavia kicked her feet up onto the coffee table. But almost as soon as her feet touched the surface, she let out a groan and dropped her feet back down. "You bought it at a garage sale! Stop acting like it's nice."

Raven turned to face Octavia, "Mental conversations?"

"You get used to it." Octavia and Miller responded at the same time.

Murphy, or at least the man Clarke assumed to be Bellamy's friend Murphy, walked into the room holding a tray of mozzarella sticks. An apron with Heat Miser’s face tied loosely around his neck showing off a t-shirt - also with Heat Miser’s face. She could feel Raven’s shoulder tensing beside her. The woman’s fingers shaking rapidly. Clarke reached over to try and put her friend at ease but Raven shifted away.

“I’m making the old man change into something more festive. Anyway, here’s- oh crap.” Instantly, Raven was on her feet, charging at the male. He flung the plastic tray towards Raven’s face as an attempt to delay her. Mozzarella sticks scattered across the living room. Turning on his heel, Murphy sped towards the backdoor knocking over chairs and bookcases in his haste.

“Get back here!” Raven shouted, hurdling gracefully over one of the toppled bookcases. 

Bellamy reappeared moments after the backdoor slammed against the wall dressed in a red sweater. Unlike Miller's attire, this one didn't have garlands sewn into the fabric. Instead it read the words 'I'M NOT NOBODY' were ironed on in bold, white letters.

"A bit on the nose O," Bellamy grumbled, tugging at his collar. "Why are everyone else's outfits more subtle than mine?"

One of Raven's explosions rang out from the backyard, shaking nearly everything in the home. Bellamy's television wobbling dangerously close to the edge of the tv stand. The other three continued with their conversation. None fazed by their friend yelling or that Raven sounded like she was threatening him. 

"I should probably stop that." Clarke stood up quickly, gesturing vaguely towards the backdoor. Someone had to stop Raven from leveling Bellamy's neighborhood. 

"Nah, Murphy deserves it." Miller leaned over to pluck a mozzarella stick out of the potted plant. Murphy deserved to have his ass whooped by a superhero? 

Octavia let out a barking laugh, "Most definitely deserves it. I would have hunted him down once your high-tech robotics team fitted the mech leg."

Was he the reason Raven had a mech leg? 

She'd seen the report. A newly licensed eighteen year old Raven participated in a joint effort between her then company Mecha (a small superhero agency just outside of Arkadia founded by the late great Jacapo Sinclair, that was eventually bought out by Ark) and Ark itself. Amidst the collaboration, Mecha received a call regarding an adolescent male with fire-related abilities reeking havoc in an affluent suburban neighborhood. The same neighborhood Clarke grew up in.

No one could make out exactly what the boy screamed as he unleashed walls and walls of fire. A few heroes who responded to the incident heard the words 'dead' and 'your fault', but Raven never confirmed whether or not those words were uttered. Just that the boy succumbed to his emotions. His powers fueled by anger and pain. A burning inferno surrounding him and preventing anyone from getting too close.

Three days later, Raven woke up in a hospital bed without a majority of her left leg.

Had Murphy been the young John Doe that escaped that night fateful?

Bellamy let out a sigh, turning towards the back window. A cloud of smoke obscuring anyone from seeing the fight brewing outside. Almost immediately the noises ceased. The backdoor opening and closing quickly.

_Did you stop them?_ She asked mentally.

_My neighbors are pretty cool about meta-humans but they're having company over in a half hour or so._

Octavia stood up from the couch and adjusted her tinsel shawl, allowing Clarke to see the white t-shirt the woman wore. A dancing horse wearing a diadem… interesting choice. The woman bounced into the dining room calling everyone to dinner. Well, after yelling at Murphy to get the lasagna.

Throughout dinner, Clarke continuously glanced between the fours' chosen attires: a dancing horse princess; a fraying bowtie; Heat Miser; and a Nobody sweater. 

If Murphy happened to be John Doe, she appreciated the A+ holiday character choice. Miller's frayed bowtie threw her for a loop.

Wait, hadn't Hippolyta translated to horse something? And there's a horse with a crown on Octavia's shirt. Her eyes drifted from Octavia, to Murphy, to Miller once more. Queen Hippolyta, Prometheus, and the third masked vigilante.

"Orion," Miller said, shoveling a fork full of lasagna into his mouth.

"What?"

He pointed the prong end of his fork towards his sweater, "The hunter, Orion."

If someone had asked Clarke that morning if she expected to be having dinner with all four of Ark's most wanted, she would have guffawed at such a statement.

"Dude, can't we finish our dinner before we talk shop?" Murphy groaned. He dropped his fork, allowing it to clatter against the plate, "Whatever, so I was a sick kid. Constantly in and out of hospitals. The night when we-" he stumbled over his words, gesturing towards Raven, "I found out my father died during some 'research study' he'd volunteered for in order to afford my hospital bills."

Murphy turned to Bellamy, the pair silently conversing. The former slowly nodded, looking back down at his plate somberly.

Similar to that first evening in the park, the Blake's dining room faded into darkness. Three dim jar lights flickered overhead illuminating gray concrete walls. Multiple opaque curtains set up to create small, private cubicles. The steady beeping of heart monitors as well as the low din of chatter could be heard behind the curtains as the image slowly moved further and further down the makeshift corridor. A male's hand grabbing for the curtain. 

Had this been a memory? One of Murphy's memories?

A male, with similar angular features to Murphy, sat up in the hospital bed. His skin placid and his eyes sunken. An array of wires and tubes attached to his forearm. 

"Hello Alex," Russell Lightborne's voice greeted, "How have you been doing today?"

"What is this?" Raven asked, her voice interjecting over the scene. 

The memory paused on the image of a frail Alex Murphy. Even the reading on the heart monitor froze. "It's one of Russell's memories," Bellamy explained, "It is a few years old, so it might not be the most accurate of memories, but this is how Russell recalls the moment."

Once more they were in the Blake's dining room as concrete walls transitioned into dust blue wall paint. 

"At the time, he and his daughter Josephine conducted experiments on super powered individuals under the guise of studying the S-gene mutation." Murphy stated, pushing a piece of lasagna around on his plate. "When in actuality, they harvested DNA from their volunteers in order to engineer the perfect supe.

"They injected their baseline _volunteers_ with a serum they concocted to the individual's genetic code. To make them supes."

Raven slammed her hands down on the table, "That's not possible," Raven argued, "Ark would have put an end to that."

Murphy looked up, a far off look in his eyes, "Ark funded it."

Nearby heroes claimed they heard a broken John Doe blame a resident of her childhood neighborhood for someone's death. Maybe he'd gone to the neighborhood because of the Lightbornes or because of the Jahas.

Bellamy (and probably Octavia) justifiably blamed the Ark for Gina's death. Murphy justifiably blamed Ark for his father's death.

The word oblation drifted into her head.

That left Miller.

The male let out a solemn sigh, "My sob story?"

"Do you want a fancy movie scene as well?" Bellamy asked jokingly, as a means to lighten the mood.

Miller smiled somberly, "Your cinematography is pathetic man.

"My father and most of his SEAL unit died from an IUD. Only one man came home but the weight of everything took a toll on him." Miller leaned back in his seat, arms crossed at his chest. "For years he never spoke about what happened, but about fourteen months ago he started to lose his memory. Confusing instances in his life with tv shows he'd watch.

"He brought up the IUD once while I was volunteering down at the VA hospitals, but the way he described it sounded less like an explosive and more… human."

Octavia placed her head on his shoulder. Her thumb gently rubbing circles into his skin.

"The more he spoke about the incident, the more the IUD sounded like Fission Man and Optimus. Three days before he passed, he said that half of the Guard killed his unit. Due to his brain's deterioration, no one believed his claims. I'm not sure I even did. At least until I found the NDA barring him from speaking about the incident in one of his desk drawers."

The word Chosen drifted into her head.

"Gina?"

"There was no kick to the throat in her choreography," Octavia growled.

Four people whose lives were ravaged by Ark coming together against the company. How could she bring them in when they wanted justice for their lost loved ones. Bellamy asked her to come here in order to hear his friends' stories. 

_Technically they never committed a crime. Everyone at the banks assumed they were being robbed but really O just called for their attention. Not her fault they misunderstood. And my friends wanted to see what the Ark could do._

Bellamy stood up from the table and walked into the kitchen. Clarke silently followed after him. The male rummaged through the fridge. She plopped herself up on the counter closest to him.

"You do know robbery is still a crime, right?"

"I don't know why Ark keeps blaming me for robbing a bunch of old, rich dudes," Bellamy resurfaced with a chocolate pudding pie in one hand and a jug full of eggnog, "They donated everything."

Her face must have reflected her confusion for he placed the pie and eggnog down.

"Dante Wallace claims someone robbed $100,000 from him. However, it must have slipped his mind that those funds were donated to ten different local charities."

"You made donations in their names?"

Bellamy smirked at her, picking up the pudding pie and eggnog, "I don't know what you're talking bout."

_Who wants to deal with the publicity of having donated $10,000 only to rescind said donation._

He Robin Hooded a slew of Ark executives. Giving every penny he 'stole' to charities. Diabolical.

Bellamy froze in the doorway, one foot over the sill. Slowly, his head tilted upwards. A piece of mistletoe hanging overhead. Clarke could see Octavia smirking from her seat. Letting out a quiet snort, she walked over to Bellamy. She gripped his chin between her thumb and her pointer finger, pulling Bellamy down to her. His lips surprisingly soft against her slightly chapped ones. Slowly they moved together, neither parting their lips to allow the other in.

Her phone vibrated repeatedly in her pocket dragging her attention away from their mistletoe kiss. No doubt either Cage cursing her out for being late or the Guard's publicist demanding her arrival promptly. She didn't dare look at the clock - or check her messages.

"Don't wanna keep that boyfriend of yours waiting."

"You and I both know he's not my boyfriend," she replied smugly.

One of his eyebrows hitched in challenge but rather than respond, he continued into the dinning room. He placed the holiday themed refreshments onto the table and stood behind his seat. Waiting for her to make her choice: dessert with the Blakes or Ark's Christmas Eve party.

Miller, who must have left the room after them, returned from the living room carrying five small presents. Each wrapped in outlandish Christmas themed paper.

"We didn't know you'd be joining us Raven," Miller dropped the presents onto the middle of the table. "So I apologize that we didn't get one on your behalf."

_Don't worry. I got a present on you behalf. So I feel like we're even. I got a $10 White Elephant gift for you and in exchange, you forget the whole unregistered HRA thing._

_Like I said in the hospital, I have no intention of bringing you in/_.

Octavia stood from the table and raced into the kitchen. She returned a few minutes later with a red bow slapped onto a slightly warped plastic ladle. Once she sat back down, Murphy explained the rules of White Elephant. A small glass bowl passed around the table for everyone to choose their number. Hers being the number '2'.

Taking a deep breath, Raven pulled a folded packet of papers from her pocket and dropped it into the pile of presents. She stole the bow from the ladle and slapped it onto the packet.

"Oblation is blacked out entirely, but this is everything I could gather on Chosen."

Miller's eyes widened almost comically. The male grabbing frantically for the packet. Bellamy smacked him away, "In order to read it, you have to win it."

* * *

> **BREAKING NEWS: FORMER HEROES ULTRAVIOLET, IMPACT, AND ECHINACAE HAVE TERMINATED EMPLOYMENT WITH ARK**
> 
> **HAVE THESE GOOD GUYS GONE BAD?  
>  ** **DIANA SYDNEY**
> 
> **ULTRAVIOLET AND QUEEN HIPPOLYTA ALLIED IN FIGHT AGAINST FALLOUT**
> 
> **A LOVERS FALLOUT?  
>  ** **KAYLEE LEE**
> 
> **PROMETHEUS AND MISS FORTUNE SUSPECTED IN ARK TOWER HEIST**
> 
> **ARK HAS NOT RELEASED WHAT WAS STOLEN IN THE HEIST  
>  COLE MCADAMS**
> 
> **ARK ALLEGED IN OPERATION TO ARTIFICALLY GENERATE A NEW ERA OF SUPES**
> 
> **WITNESSES COMING FORWARD TO ATTEST THEY'D BEEN DUPED WHEN VOLUNTEERING FOR A RESEARCH STUDY  
>  CALLIE CADOGAN**

**Author's Note:**

> To the recipient of this fic, I hope you like this! If not, I’ll gladly rewrite the it! While I consume a copious amount of superhero media, I’ve never actually written a superhero fic before. 
> 
> I kind of used pre-existing superheroes from a slew of different mediums (Marvel, BNHA, Sky High, etc.) for the basis of the characters' superpowers. For example, Bellamy’s powers are largely based on Professor X’ and Octavia’s are inspired by Wonder Woman. ( ~~Well technically she’s inspired by Queen Maeve from The Boys, but Queen Maeve is a satire of Wonder Woman…~~ )
> 
> The ‘I’M NOT NOBODY’ sweater is based off a panel where Matt Murdock wears a sweater to a Christmas party that says ‘I’M NOT DAREDEVIL.’
> 
> And Raven with a mech leg is living rent free in my mind. Everyone should give her a mech leg.
> 
> (btw, Monty and Raven are part of the B-team)


End file.
